40 Cups of Coffee
by SugarPopsAndLemonDrops
Summary: Kurt left high school with a dream; make it big on Broadway. But unfortunately for him, reality caught up with him and he found himself taking over a failing coffee shop, working with the people he thought he'd left behind. Until he meets Blaine Anderson.
1. 1

**Edited 24/02/12. Many thanks to TerribleSpy for pointing out discrepancies and inaccuracies. **

The coffee shop had been relatively quiet all afternoon; Kurt suspected a combination of the freezing cold and sleet that had been falling for hours had something to do with it. He'd sent Finn home just under three-quarters of an hour ago, leaving Brittany quietly cleaning the already sparkling tables and Santana moodily emptying the till. Kurt busied himself with cleaning the milk steamer. He pulled a face as he poured the lukewarm water out of the drip catcher, steam floating up around his faced, accompanied by the pervading smell of sour milk. Then he quickly ran a damp cloth over it and replaced it, snapping the black plastic back into place.

Then he promptly dropped the cloth on the floor as the door bursts open, bell jangling and wind rushing in. Santana raised her head from her splayed position over a tabletop, Brittany stopped scrubbing at a non-existent stain and Kurt looked on incredulously as a young man with wild, messy hair tried to wrestle the door shut. Eventually, the door groaned shut against the wind and he made his way across to one of the window booths where he deposited his armful of books.

Santana thumped her head back down on the table and Brittany finally decided that the table's clean enough and she wandered over to Kurt, dragging the mop behind her. Kurt stooped to pick up the dropped cloth and when he straighten found himself face-to-face with their single customer.

"Hi", he said, eyes bright and hair damp. "Can I get a grande hazelnut latte please? To have in. Oh and also one of those muffins." Kurt forced a cheery smile onto his face.

"Sure. To have in or take-away?" Kurt asked.

"Oh, to have in please; it's way too cold to be hanging around outside."

Would you like the muffin heated through or just as it is?" Their customer blinked.

"Oh, um, heated, please." He asked and Kurt moved away from the counter, taking a cup down from the shelf. Brittany hovered at his elbow, blond hair trailing over her shoulder as he steamed the milk briskly.

"This is a really nice place," The boy said, leaning his elbows on the countertop. Kurt flicked the pressure on the steamer up, dipping the nozzle into the full milk jug with a hiss. "I've never been in here; normally I go to Starbucks, but the sleet was too much." Brittany looked at him, head on one side and a curious expression on her face.

"Your eyebrows are really triangular." She said finally, the smiled when their customer clapped a hand to his forehead. "What's your name?"

"Britt, babe, don't be rude." Kurt interjected, thumping the jug of frothy milk on the counter.

"No, no, it's fine. It's Blaine." Brittany nodded and opened her mouth to say something but Kurt breezed past her and slid Blaine's coffee onto the counter.

"Okay…" he said, tapping the till's touch screen with a pencil."That's $4.50, please."

Blaine rooted around in his wallet for a few seconds, before producing a crumpled $5 note. He handed it over and Brittany unfolded it deftly, smoothing it out before she handed it to Kurt. "I'll bring your muffin over in a few minutes." Kurt said, handing over a small wooden block with the number 3 painted on it and a two quarters. Blaine took them clumsily, juggling the full cup.

"Thanks!" He said brightly, picking his way carefully across the room and depositing them onto the table. Kurt turned away to put the muffin in the microwave, turning the dial round to thirty seconds before scrunching the plastic wrap up and chucking it vaguely in the direction of the bin. Suddenly Santana appeared out of nowhere, draping herself over his back and shoulder, hair falling like a perfumed curtain as she leant to whisper in his ear.

"He's pretty cute." She whispered in his ear and Kurt groaned. "Minus the doofy glasses." Kurt pushed her off him as the timer beeped.

"Santana, as much as I _appreciate_ your help with my love-life, we all know how well it turned out last time you tried to help me." He gingerly slid the muffin onto a plate and scooted past her. She scowled and followed him.

"Oh come _on_. One time! Okay so Josh wasn't the greatest. So what? At least you got laid, Hummel." She cried, hands on her hips. He whirled around.

"Santana; my love life is _not up for discussion in front of customers_. Go and find something useful to do!" He turned on his heel and stalked over to the single occupied table. Blaine was looking at him with a slightly freaked-out look on his face. Kurt set the plate down with a sigh.

"My apologies; we're a lot more laid-back in here than chain shops. But Santana's not normally _this_ irritating." Kurt sighed, wiping his hands on his apron. Blaine laughed and pushed his glasses up his nose.

"No sweat; doesn't matter to me. The coffee's great by the way." He indicated the half-empty mug. "Much better than the stuff you get in Starbucks." He shuddered. "And your tables are clean. Have you been in Starbucks; the tables are so, so _sticky_." Kurt snorted.

"Well you can thank Britt for that; she thinks the tables are mirrors or something; hates it if they aren't clean enough to see her face in." Kurt indicated her behind the counter with a tip of his head. Blaine, who'd been taking another mouthful of coffee, choked. Kurt waited for him to cough and thump his chest a few times before raising a perfectly shaped eyebrow at him.

"Problem?" He asked, head on one side. Blaine shook his head.

"Oh, no, she just reminds me of my brother's girlfriend; looks like her, too. I swear they could be twins or something." He clarified. Kurt nodded evenly.

"You must think I'm really weird, huh?" Blaine smiled ruefully.

Kurt paused. "Not _really_ weird." He conceded. Blaine burst out laughing.

"Is this how you treat all your customers, Mr…" He squinted at Kurt's name badge. "Kurt." He bit the 't' on the end, popping it off his lips like bubblegum.

"No," Kurt replied, taking the now-empty mug. "Just ones that can't shut the door and laugh at clean tables." Blaine's laughter rang through the shop, prompting Santana to poke her head around the corner of the kitchen, a lascivious grin on her face. Kurt pointed at her with the mug.

"Shut up." He said quickly. She raised her hands.

"I didn't say anything!" She protested as Kurt wandered over to the counter.

"No," he agreed, dumping the mug in her hand. "But you wanted to. Now wash this up." She glared at him and stalked into the kitchen, hair swishing behind her. A clatter caught Kurt's attention and he turned his attention back to their sole customer.

Blaine was struggling to gather his numerous files together, glasses slipping down his nose. "You off?" Kurt called, polishing a glass. Blaine looked up.

"Yup, gotta get to the library; I've got mock finals this week and, I'll be honest," He sighed. "I've not done as much work as I should." Kurt nodded sagely. "I'll definitely come back here at some point; it's way nicer than any chain." He finally settled the mound of files in his arms. Brittany skipped over and opened the door, flinching as the wind howled in. Blaine sighed, waving awkwardly at Kurt with his elbow. Kurt raised a hand in return as Blaine reluctantly made his way back out into the cold.

Brittany forced the door closed and she shop fell into quiet. Kurt sighed and checked his watch. "You know what, Britt, Santana; it's nearly four and we've been quiet for hours. Let's just close up now."

Santana cheered and plonked the now-clean mug back on the shelf. Kurt walked over to the previously occupied table to clear the plate when he caught sight of a folded slip of paper. He frowned and picked it up. It was addressed to him in curving script. Kurt unfolded it.

_Hey, Kurt!_

_Just wanted to say, thanks again for humouring my weirdness – I swear I'm not always this goofy._

Kurt giggled and rolled his eyes.

_And I've just realised how weird it is that I'm writing a note to a guy I don't even know, so I'll finish this quickly. I was wondering if I could take you for lunch somewhere next week? I'd really like to get to get to know you – you seem like an awesome guy. And I'm rambling now so I'll shut up._

_I've written my number at the bottom; if you want to, drop me a text sometime!_

_Blaine._

"What are you smiling at that paper for, Kurt?" Brittany called. He jumped and folded it up, slipping it in his apron pocket.

"Never you mind Britt; come on, I want to go home." He replied and snapped his fingers at the two imperiously.

"Okay, okay! Don't get your panties in a twist, Hummel." Santana snapped, flicking off the switches on the espresso bar as Brittany slipped the 'Open' sign over to 'Closed'.

"Is the till empty?" He asked Santana, turning off the lights in the kitchen after giving it a cursory glance over.

"Yep. S'in that envelope." She nodded to a brown envelope sitting on the counter. Kurt picked it up.

"I'll get your pay to you tomorrow, Britt, Santana. You two can split the tip jar." Kurt told them, passing Brittany the tip jar. She clapped her hands and tipped the handful of coins into her palm. Kurt fished his bag out from under the counter and untied his apron, rolling it up and stuffing it in. "Oh, remember it's late-night shopping tomorrow so shifts are split. Which means you two can get a lie-in." He groused, shuddering at the thought of another six am start.

"Oh thank _fuck_for that." Santana cried. "I'm sorry Hummel; I don't do seven am starts."

"Remind me again how you managed in high school?" Kurt asked. She flapped a hand at him.

"Pshh; that was years ago. I'm old now." She shot back.

"It was three years ago!" Kurt said incredulously.

"Once you hit twenty a year is like a decade." Santana shot back. "Look at me; I'm already getting wrinkles."

Kurt laughed. "Oh don't be so ridiculous."

"I'm not – so are _you_. You've got crows' feet." Kurt swatted at her.

"I have _not_." He protested and marched over to the door, fishing his keys out from his back pocket. "Now out, both of you; come on. The rain's let up." And he chivvied them both out the door. Brittany meandered out, the long ears of her hat dangling over her shoulders. Santana followed suite, muttering under her breath.

"See you tomorrow lunch." Kurt called over his shoulder as they walked off together. Santana waved in his direction and they turned a corner. Kurt stood up and pulled his collar up against the wind. He sighed, breath clouding in front of his face and pocketed the key. "Come on, Hummel." And he hunched up his shoulders against the wind and began the long walk home.


	2. 2

The bad weather had continued through the night. Kurt had suffered two roof leaks and his boiler was whining unhappily when he woke up at half six for a shower. The late shopping shift had been as manic as he'd expected; their shop was nearly over whelmed with customers; he'd had to call Santana to come in early plus he'd snapped twice at Rachel when she'd only opened her mouth to speak. The result had been an angry Finn, sulky Rachel and a harried Kurt closing up shop at quarter past nine at night. Kurt had forced himself home and had flopped face-first onto his bed and slept solidly though until midday.

He'd sat up in a panic until he remembered that it was a Sunday and the shop was closed. He'd made himself scrambled eggs for breakfast and ate them in the draughty window seat, wrapped up in a worn, stretched jumper. Then he'd dragged himself out of the house to go for a walk.  
>The sun was just beginning to peek through the clouds by the time he made it to the large park near his apartment. He'd stopped in Starbucks on the way there, mainly for a coffee, but also just to test Blaine's claim of sticky tables.<p>

"Ugh he was right, he was right." Kurt grumbled, wiping his fingers on the hem of his pea coat.

The park was quiet; only a few dog walkers and the occasional runner. He settled on a slightly damp park bench, cupping his hands around the cardboard cup. He closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the curved back of the bench. The air was alive with the sounds of the city; birds tweeting ad flitting in and out of trees, the hum of a police helicopter, screams from a children's play area across the park and above it all, a steady roar of traffic in the distance.

"Hey!" Kurt was jolted out of his daydream. "It _is_ Kurt, right?" Kurt sat up, blinking in the watery sunlight. Blaine stood in front of him, dressed in a sweat-damp t-shirt and joggers.

"That's me, Blaine, right?" Kurt rubbed the back of his neck and put his coffee cup down on the bench next to him and flexed his fingers. Blaine stood awkwardly in front of him for a few seconds, breath fogging around his face like smoke. Kurt cleared his throat. "You do this often?" He indicated Blaine's running clothes. Blaine nodded, shifting his weight onto his left foot, hands on his hips.

"Uh huh, every Sunday; it's the only chance I get to, you know, get out." Kurt nodded in understanding.

"I was just about to get some breakfast," he lied, standing up and brushing creases out of his coat. "Feel like joining me?" Blaine grinned.

"You know this isn't exactly what I meant when I said I wanted to take you out for a meal. Look at me." He indicated his damp t-shirt. "Not exactly at my most attractive right now." Kurt snorted.

Blaine looked mortified. "Not that I meant I _always_-" He cut himself off. "Look, how about lunch instead? I know this great Greek restaurant about five minutes from here. I won't come in a tracksuit, I promise."

"Okay," Kurt agreed amiably. Blaine fished his phone out of his pocket.

"Give me your phone number and I'll let you know what time. Do you… need mine?" He looked up at Kurt half-expectantly. Kurt swallowed.

"Ah, no, I don't." Blaine grinned and Kurt smiled back. No way was he going to admit that as soon as he got home he'd spent all evening agonising over whether-or-not he should text. Kurt reeled off his number and Blaine carefully typed it in. Kurt's phone vibrated a second later and he flipped it open.

_:)_

Blaine swiftly re-pocketed his phone. "So, um, I'll see you later?"

"Yeah," Kurt said. "Looking forward to it."

"Me too." Blaine replied evenly. "Anyway, I'd better get home, see you Kurt!" Kurt waved as he jogged off, waiting until her rounded the corner before allowing a huge grin to spread over his face. He scrambled for his phone.

"_Rachel_ oh my god you will not _believe_ what just happened…"

Half an hour later, Kurt was gathering up a pile of paid bills on the coffee table in his tiny living room when he was disturbed by a frantic pounding on his door. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Alright, alright." He heaved himself off the sofa.  
>Unsurprisingly, it was Rachel, wrapped up in a bright pink coat. She barged past him into his apartment. "Oh yes <em>do<em> come in Rachel, make yourself at home why don't you?" He groused.

"Shut up Kurt. You have to tell me everything. I can't believe you haven't already!" Kurt raised an eyebrow imperiously.

"I don't remember you telling me about Matt." She gulped. "I heard it from Santana of all people." She looked away, fiddling with the sleeves of her coat.

"Yes, well, he was a mistake. Anyway, I'm not here to talk about me."

"For once. " Kurt interrupted and she smacked his arm.  
>"I want to know about this <em>Blaine<em>. Where did you meet him? What's he like?" Kurt took hold of her elbow.

"How about I make some tea, and yes I have that weird decaf stuff you drink, and I'll tell you everything."

Five minutes later found Rachel curled up against an arm of the sofa while Kurt sat cross-legged on the faded armchair, both nursing steaming mugs.

"So come on, then." She encouraged, taking a sip of tea.

"Well," Kurt began. "I met him on Saturday; the shop was really quiet because of the rain and I was honestly thinking about shutting up early when he burst in." He gazed into space. "He looked a dreadful mess; he was soaked and his hair was all windswept and his eyebrows were humongous. But he was so… _earnest_." He took a long sip of tea before speaking again. "Anyway, he stayed in the shop for just under an hour, then he left a piece of paper with his number on it, asking if I wanted to go for lunch."

Rachel 'awwed' and Kurt scowled at her, but his eyes were smiling. "And I met him this morning, by accident, in the park. He was out running."

"What's he look like?" Rachel pressed, leaning forwards expectantly.

"He's got this… wild curly hair. Honestly I want to cut it. And like I said; _huge_ eyebrows and ridiculous eyes. I swear they freaking _sparkle_. He's like a puppy." Kurt took a mouthful of tea. "All I know really is that he's taking finals this year. I don't know what in. Or where."

"Where are you going on this date?" Rachel asked eagerly.

"It's not a _date_ Rachel; he said he wants to get to know me because, I quote: 'I seem like an awesome guy'." He looked up from his mug to find Rachel staring at him with  
>an incredulous expression on her face.<p>

"I hate to break it to you, Kurt; but that _is_ a date. And you need to get ready!" She cried, sitting up and yelping as tea sloshed over her fingers.

"He hasn't texted me yet, Rachel; who knows it might be a joke." _I sure hope not_.

"Oh Kurt; come on, don't be ridiculous." As if on cue, Kurt's phone vibrated from where it lay on the coffee table. He snatched it as Rachel lunged for it, holding it out of her reach.

_Hi Kurt!  
>I'm home now; would 1:30 be a good time for you?<em>

Kurt bit his lip to keep himself from grinning to widely. He quickly typed out a response.

_Sounds good!  
>Where should I meet you? The bandstand?<em>

He stood up. "Rachel, I have half an hour to get ready; you need to go, preferably _now_."

"But can't I help you get ready?" She protested.

"Don't be ridiculous; I'm perfectly capable of getting ready by myself. I think you've forgotten I was the most fashionable in school." She sighed, heaving herself off the sofa.

"Oh fine, fine. Spoilsport." She checked her watch. "I have rehearsal this afternoon at any rate, so I'll see you later." Kurt ignored the painful jolt in his chest and gave a wan smile, pushing her out the door. She whirled around and prodded his chest. "Call me when you get back; I'll come round for Chinese and you can tell me about your date." She waggled her eyebrows and Kurt shut the door in her face.

His phone vibrated again and he snatched it up.

_Sure! See you in twenty minutes._

He nearly dropped the phone. "Twenty minutes? Shitshitshit." And he bolted out of the living room.


	3. 3

_**Italicised **_**paragraphs indicate flashback.**

In retrospect, Kurt thought, he should have seen this coming. It still didn't stop him from angrily chucking his keys into the bowl in the kitchen and screwing his expensive coat into a ball and flinging it into the bedroom when he got home. It certainly didn't stop him from snatching his phone up and angrily deleting Blaine from his contacts, then punching in Rachel's number and leaving her a voicemail that consist mainly of inane babbling.

He had never felt so _humiliated_ in his life, and that was saying something, because he'd had a crush on Finn Hudson. His phone rang suddenly and he nearly dropped it. 'Unknown number' flashed up on the screen and Kurt angrily pressed the reject button, then left the phone on the coffee table and stalked out onto the balcony.

_"Pylos Restaurant?" Kurt squinted up at the name and Blaine hummed next to him._

_"Uh huh, s'really good food. Oh and I know the manager."_

_"So this isn't some weird sales pitch, then? You're not going to feed me horrible food and then have me pretend to like it just to pay back the manager, are you?" Kurt said slyly and Blaine laughed loudly._

_"You got me." He held his hands up. "No, I'm joking. It genuinely is really nice; the atmosphere as well as the food."  
>He held the door open and ushered Kurt inside.<em>

Forced in by the cold edge creeping into the breeze, Kurt retreated to the living room where he lay stewing in his misery, watching Oprah interview some Z-list celebrity that no one had heard of. All of a sudden, the doorbell rang frantically and Kurt sat up. Cautiously, he peered out of the spyhole and was greeted with a mass of pink. _Rachel_. He yanked the door opened and she dumped two white plastic bags in his arms.

"I got your voicemail," She said, pulling her gloves off and folding them in half, tucking them into her coat pocket. "So I came right over with the promised Chinese. Now get some glasses and you can tell me all about it."

_"I have no idea what any of this __**is**__, Blaine." Kurt laughed, peering down at the menu. "It looks like Cyrillic."_

_"Well," Blaine said, leaning over. "I'd recommend the 'Aginares a la Polita', the 'Kalamari'-"_

_"Oh I've heard of that one." Kurt interrupted excitedly. "It's squid."_

_Blaine nodded, still smiling. "That's right. Oh also try the 'Dolmadakia'."_

_"Any chance you could, I don't know, translate any of that? You could be feeding me horse for all I know" Kurt complained. Blaine's laughter rang loud through the restaurant._

"I've never been so embarrassed." Kurt whined, gesturing with a pair of chopsticks. Rachel dug through a box of lo mein, trying to find the wontons. "I mean, what sort of guy takes you out on a _date_; an expensive date mind you, only to do, do… _that_?" He fished a piece of leek out and chewed it angrily.

"Do _what_, Kurt?" Rachel said for the third time, blowing a strand of hair out of her face.

_"So tell me, Kurt." Blaine said as he handed the folded menus over. "How did you get to own a coffee shop? You'll have to excuse me for saying, but you don't seem like the sort of guy who would."_

_Kurt sighed. "You'd be right. " He said woefully. "I'm a college dropout; NYADA if you can believe it." Blaine's eyebrows raised so high they nearly disappeared into his hair._

_"Seriously?"_

_"Seriously." Kurt confirmed._

_Blaine floundered for a second. "Kurt…"_

_"No," Kurt said suddenly. "It was over a year ago I'm… I'm over it. And I don't want to spoil this with my failings." He took a sip of water before speaking again. "You're at college, right? What are you studying?" Blaine's mouth twisted into a scowl._

_"Education. But my dad… my dad doesn't want me to. He wants me to take Law. Education is, apparently, a waste of time and a 'one-way ticket to misery'. His words, not mine." He added ruefully._

_"Well aren't we a pair." _

"You've told me that he's done "that", a lot, Kurt. But what actually did he do?" Rachel pressed, neglecting the chopsticks and picking up a spring roll between two fingers.

Kurt looked up from the sweet and sour prawns with a glare that could scare small children, eyes darting to his phone as it buzzed angrily on the coffee table.

_"Ohmygod Blaine these are amazing!" Kurt gushed, gesturing to the plate of dolma on the table in between them. Blaine grinned around a mouthful of baby squid, mouth covered with a hand._

_"Blaine! I didn't know you were here!" Blaine looked up, eyes wide. A slim, if short young woman walked up to their table, bending to press a kiss to his cheek._

_Kurt glanced uncertainly between them. Blaine seemed to notice and wiped his mouth with a napkin._

_"Kurt, this is Melissa. My…" He trailed off and she laughed._

_"Girlfriend, Blaine, girlfriend. I know it's only recent but-" She laughed again, tapping him on the nose._

_Cold settled in Kurt's stomach like a stone and he pushed his plate away, then faked looking at his watch._

_"Oh, look at the time; Blaine, I'm sorry I have to get going." He stood up quickly and pulled out his wallet._

_"Wait, Kurt-" Blaine struggled to his feet._

_"As nice as this has been, I have to get back; the steamer's playing up at the shop." Kurt held out a few ten dollar notes. "I'll, I'll see you around." And he walked off, head held high and jacket swishing behind him._

"Oh Kurt. I'm sorry." Rachel sympathised, patting his hand.

Kurt's phone buzzed again. He ignored it. Again.

"Aren't you… going to get that? It could be important." Rachel asked. Kurt shook his head.

"No, he's been trying to get hold of me all afternoon. If he really wants to talk I guess he'll just have to see me tomorrow at the shop." He crushed the empty carton in his hands and reached for the carton of wontons, grabbing the last one. He bit it in half angrily, steam rising up around his face. "It was strange, though." He said after a few minutes of silence. "I saw a lot of myself in him; we're both disappointments to our fathers-"

"No, Kurt, don't say that you know that's not true-" Rachel cried, leaning forward to take one of his hands. He snatched them away and continued.

"-both unhappy with our lives and the only difference, Rachel." He paused. "Is that at least he's not some failure of a dropout like I am; at least he's going somewhere with his life. I look at my future, and all I can see is me, running that stupid shop," his face crumpled miserably. "For the rest of my life until-"

Rachel smacked him firmly across the face. He gawped up at her, one hand pressed to his smarting cheek.

"Now you listen to me, Kurt Hummel. Don't think I don't remember what you said to me, all those years ago, in the car park outside the NYADA mixer. You told me I was a star. That there was 'only one' of me. Well, Kurt. You are a star; there's only one of you, too; you just haven't found yourself yet. You may think that all you can do is resign yourself to life, but I know better. Where's the Kurt Hummel who, despite all the crap he went through in high school, still came out alive and with his dreams intact. Who sang the solo at Nationals that lead us to victory?" She stopped, breathing hard and Kurt stared up at her, tears shining in his eyes. "I've seen your sketches. You may try to hide them, but you have a talent, Kurt. A real talent for design. Maybe NYADA wasn't your calling; maybe fashion, is."

Kurt sniffed, scrubbing at his face with the heel of his hand. "For once in your life, Rachel, you may be right. I don't want to stagnate in some dead-end job; I want to be someone, I want to make it big, be remembered for something great, rather than for making great coffee." He took a shaky breath.

"But this is reality, this is who I am, now, and I'm just going to have to wait for something better to come along. I can't put my dad through the stress of when I dropped out again, I can't. Seeing me so upset; it nearly killed him. So I'm prepared to be happy if he is, Rachel. That's how it is and how it's always been. I won't jeopardise my dad's health for some selfish dream of mine that will never come true."  
>He sat up and collected the empty cartons, tossing them into one of the bags. "Now come on, tell me about rehearsal? How is everything going?"<p>

It took a long time for Kurt to get to sleep that night; he lay in bed, looking at the ceiling as car headlight cast long shadows across it through the curtains. He could almost feel the box of his sketches calling to him from under his bed; he longed to get them out again. But then he remembered the look on his dad's face when he told him he was dropping out of NYADA.

"I won't do that to him again." Kurt whispered furiously to the night. "I _won't_." And he turned over, burrowing himself deeper into his duvet as the traffic hummed outside.


	4. 4

Kurt didn't see Blaine until almost a week later. Not that he'd expected to. Or particularly wanted to; still smarting from the events of their date and too embarrassed to rise to Santana's jibes, he threw himself into his work.

On Wednesday, he'd pulled out his box of sketches from under his bed; wiping the dust off the top and fiddling with the strip of duct tape securing it shut. He'd peeled the corner off, then suffered a whiplash-like change of heart and shoved the box back under the bed and left the room. Hours later found him flicking idly through a magazine, glancing over the fashion ads and ignoring the painful jolt in his chest or the sour taste that flooded his mouth every time a D&G or Louis Vuitton advert appeared.

Thursday saw the busiest morning rush they'd experienced in months; Kurt was sure he'd turned grey by the time lunchtime rolled around and the queues died down. They'd also nearly run out of coffee, much to Kurt's panic, and he'd been forced to dash home in order to grab the number of their supplier. He'd returned to find Rachel and Finn in the middle of a huge fight, the likes of which they'd not had since their high school days. He'd nearly fired both of them, but ended up sending them home early, with docked pay, just out of spite.

By the time Friday rolled around, Kurt was sure he'd spotted a few grey hairs in the as he shaved and was really not in the mood for work when he opened up shop that morning.

"When are you going to tell me exactly what went down on that date of yours with Short Stuff?" Santana drawled in his ear, looping an arm around his shoulder as Kurt wrestled with the screw top bottle of caramel syrup.

"Oh my _god_ Santana can you not do this now?" Kurt begged, trying in vain to dislodge the crusted ring of syrup that had firmly stuck to the neck of the bottle. "Actually can you just not do this ever, at all?" She sniggered, reaching over his shoulder to snag a chocolate cookie. Kurt only half-heartedly swatted at her, giving up on the bottle and tossing it in the glass recycling bin.

"I'll stop," Santana said through a mouthful of cookie. "When you give me _all_, and I mean _**all**_ the details of your hot date." She popped the remained in her mouth and brushed her hands off on her apron.

"Remind me again why I hired you?" Kurt asked nonchalantly, checking the card machine. She waved a hand.

"Don't try and change the subject, Hummel, I've worked with you for too long to put up with your bullshit." She grabbed his chin in one hand, bright red nails digging into his jaw. He sighed, admitting defeat.

"Fine, I'll tell you; just let me get a drink." He shook his head free and snagged a coffee cup from the shelf, quickly making himself a chai latte. He dawdled over frothing the milk and Santana called impatiently from the staff room.

"Come on Hummel; I don't have all day!" Kurt grumbled under his breath and whacked the pressure up a few notches just to drown her out.

"I still don't know why you won't let me spike those old ladies' drinks with rum when they come in. It'd make them a lot less stuck up." Santana remarked idly as he sat down at the staff table in the back room while she filed her nails carefully.

Kurt rolled his eyes and said nothing, stirring the foam on the top of his cup with a finger, drawing patterns in the surface. Santana leant forward in her chair, re-pocketed the file and whispered conspiratorially.

"So, you promised me details; I wants em." She pressed leaning on her elbows and Kurt sighed.

"There really isn't that much to tell, Santana." He took a sip, wincing as the liquid scalded his tongue. "It ended rather abruptly, really." She raised an eyebrow.

"His girlfriend showed up." Kurt said bitterly, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms.

"Wait, _girlfriend_?" Santana repeated. "No way; he's gay, I know he is; my gaydar has a 100% success rate."

"Tell that to Melissa or whatever her name is." Kurt spat, rubbing at a stain on the unvarnished table and slouching in his chair.

Santana stared at him critically for a few minutes, Kurt fidgeted under her gaze. "What did you do?" She said eventually.

"Huh?" Kurt replied, confused.

"What did you do when she showed up?" She rephrased, rolling her eyes.

"Oh, um, I left. Made an excuse and left. Then sulked all evening and ate Chinese with Rachel." Kurt said, taking a mouthful of tea. "Blaine tried to call a few… well, a lot, but I really didn't want to know. He stopped calling a day later and I haven't seen him since."

Santana nodded. "Uh huh, and what did this Melissa look like?" Kurt considered.

"Um, short, blond… _thin_. I don't know, okay? It's not like I was looking at _her._" Kurt replied testily, Santana snapped her fingers.

"Beard."

"What?"

"Beard, she's his beard. Believe me when I know what I'm talking about. Probably a girl his daddy picked out for him and he's too much of a wimp to say no." Santana sat back, satisfied. Kurt frowned.

"But, why wouldn't he just _say _so?" He asked. Santana laughed.

"That's probably what he was going to tell you every time he called, Prancy Smurf."

Kurt groaned. "Oh _god_ I've ruined everything haven't I?" He hit his head on the table. "The one time I find a nice guy and I misinterpret everything and ruin it all. Oh my _god_." Santana patted him on the head.

"Calm down Hummel, it's not over yet. He'll show up again eventually, and when he does," She stood up. "I'll have a plan all figured out for you, don't worry."

"You're not exactly inspiring confidence in me, Santana." He shot back dryly, following her back out into the shop. He put the cup in the sink, running the tap over it a few times before putting it in the dishwasher and wiped his hands on a towel.

"I'm wounded by how little faith you have in me." She drawled sarcastically, flouncing over to put the mop away.

"Are we all set?" Kurt shouted. Santana waved at him from the cleaning cupboard and Finn poked his head around the door of the disabled toilet, giving him a thumbs up. "Good, I'm opening us up." He announced, walking over to the door and flipping the sign over.

Then he froze.

"Oh, oh my god. _Santana_." He hissed, backing away from the door.

"What? Jeez Hummel, what's got you- ohh shit…" She trailed off.

Blaine was pacing awkwardly up and down outside the shop opposite them, coat flapping in the wind. Kurt practically ran behind the counter.

"Okay, okay; come on Hummel, man up; you're 21 for god's sake. This isn't high school." He took a deep breath and looked up as the door opened and the first customers of the day came in, filling the shop with noise.

It took Blaine a long time to decide to come in. Santana had been watching out of the corner of her eye as she cleaned up a non-existent spill. She motioned frantically as he crossed the road and Kurt swallowed, handing a take-away cup over to a customer with a slightly strained smile.

He smiled blandly at Blaine as he came up to the counter. "What can I get you, sir?" He asked with rehearsed coolness. Blaine flinched.

"Look, Kurt, I-" Kurt interrupted him.

"You're holding the line up; do you want something to drink?" He snapped it just a little sharper than he'd intended to and Blaine's shoulders slumped.

"Yeah, a medium drip to take away, please." Kurt tapped it into the till.

"Anything else?" Blaine shook his head and stepped sideways as Kurt turned to the machine behind him. He watched the coffee trickle down into the espresso glasses and made a snap decision. Grabbing a pen, he scribbled a message on the side of the cardboard cup.

_If you want to talk, come to my house after seven. 186 Av B. Flat 6. _

Then he tipped the coffee into the cup, sealed the lid and turned back to the till.

"$2.05, please." He said, handing the coffee over as Blaine dug in his wallet for the correct change, tipping it into Kurt's waiting palm. "Thank-you." He quickly popped the coins into their correct drawers, shutting the tray with a jangle. He looked up just as Blaine noticed the scrawling black pen on the side of his cup.

By the time he'd finished reading Kurt was halfway through another customer's order. He floundered momentarily, then squared his shoulders and walked away. Kurt let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding and glanced impatiently at the clock for the first of many times that day.


End file.
